


Time Lock

by emynn



Series: All Kinds of Time [4]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynn/pseuds/emynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And that, Sunshine, is my big secret: I don’t know what the fuck is happening to my life, and I haven’t a clue what to do about it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Lock

“Shit,” Brian gasped. He felt like his entire body had been squeezed through a tunnel the size of softball. He imagined it’s what it felt like when he was born -- appropriate, given how he could practically hear Vic gloating about how this was his second chance at life. Still hurt like a motherfucker.

Slowly, cautiously, he rose from the ground and wiped the snow off his pants. His phone fell out of his pocket, and he frowned. Before Vic had arrived, it had been ringing nonstop. Now, it was suspiciously quiet. “If you pulled another trick, Vic,” Brian muttered, pushing buttons at random. It could just be a dead battery, _or_ Vic could have thrown him into yet _another_ fucked up parallel universe. Probably a post-apocalyptic one with zombies and vampires, the way Vic’s sense of humor worked.

Still, there was no madman with a gun shouting at him, so that was a plus. He also definitely wasn’t in a cemetery. Brian blinked a few times and willed his eyes to adjust once more to the darkness of the starless night.

Well, he was on Liberty Avenue, but it was eerily deserted. It looked like all the fags of PIttsburgh had been swept up with the sentimentality of the season and were spending the holidays at home with their loved ones.

Either that or zombies.

Brian rubbed his hands over his face. Shit, what was he going to do? He had _specifically_ wished to go home, but he wasn’t even sure everything had returned back to normal. There wasn’t anybody around to ask if they knew him -- or, more likely, knew _of_ him. All that he knew was that he was stuck on Liberty Avenue, by himself, with no working phone, no keys, no car, nothing but …

Something cold pressed up against his face, even colder than his hands.

His wedding ring.

It had happened.

He’d asked Justin to marry him, and then they’d called off their engagement, and Brian couldn’t have been more thrilled.

“Thank you, Vic,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Now he only had to figure out how to find Justin. As much as he’d like to avoid the Diner -- well, more so Debbie and whoever else was sitting there having a late-night snack and would love the opportunity to bombard him with questions he didn’t have time to answer -- it was the only place within walking distance where he could warm up enough to feel his fingers and use a phone.

A car’s engine rumbled nearby, and Brian glanced up. Perhaps fate would smile upon him and it would be somebody he knew, a friend or at least a satisfied former trick who could be persuaded to drive him thirty minutes out of the city.

The car door opened and the driver got out. Brian stared, dumbstruck, as the man walked toward him, a figure illuminated by smoke lit up by the yellow glow of headlights. Half-afraid he’d somehow been sent back in time, Brian resisted the urge to pinch himself. Instead, he twisted the platinum band on his finger, focusing on everything that had gotten him to this point.

Later, Brian wouldn’t be able to say who moved to meet whom, who took that first step, who was faster, who closed the distance. All he knew was one second he was alone, and the next he was holding Justin in his arms, his face buried in the crook of his neck, clinging to him as if it was the only thing that would keep his heart beating. He was aware that Justin was saying something, cursing at him, calling him a fucking son of a bitch, but he didn’t care. Because it was true. He had fucked up. _Plenty_ of times. And, knowing him, he’d fuck up thousands of more times before the day he finally kicked the bucket.

But, because Justin knew him even better than Brian knew himself, Justin knew that, too.

And Justin had _still_ chosen to come to him.

“I love you,” Brian said, because it was suddenly very important that Justin hear those words. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, you asshole,” Justin said with a hint of a laugh. “Now get in the car before we freeze to death.”

“Whose car is this?” Brian asked as he got in the passenger’s seat. It had been years since he’d been in the car with Justin driving. Other than the occasional radiation session after which Brian had reluctantly surrendered his keys, Justin was the one usually occupying this seat. “Rental?”

“Alfonso’s,” Justin said. “I couldn’t get a plane down here last minute and the Greyhound was sold out, so he let me borrow his SUV. Made pretty good time, given all the snow and holiday traffic.”

“Ah,” Brian said, struggling to ignore the by now all too recognizable pang of jealousy in his gut.

Justin frowned but didn’t say anything. He only took out his cell and punched a few buttons. “Hey, Michael. I found him. Yeah, he’s okay.”

They didn’t say anything the entire ride to the manor. Justin made a few more phone calls, letting their friends know he’d found Brian and he was all right, but Brian tried not to listen too closely. Frankly, he wasn’t interested in hearing anything anybody else had to say. He knew his friends were alive and well and not in jail, and that they’d give him shit for the next couple of weeks, and probably every Christmas for the rest of his life. He knew all that. That’s the way it always had been, the way it always would be. He knew that now more than ever.

What was more important in this moment was making sure that he cleared everything with Justin. Brian knew what Vic had promised him, that he and Justin would have many happy years together. But Brian also knew it was dependent on him. And _this_ was not something he was willing to fuck up. Not again.

Still, Brian couldn’t ignore the pit in his stomach that seemed to grow larger and larger the closer they got to Britin. And when they passed Brian’s Corvette, still smashed up against the tree, and Justin just whispered “Christ,” as his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel until they turned white … well, if Brian hadn’t already been aware that he’d been acting like an jackass, he was then.

“Well, come on, then,” Justin said, putting the car in park. “Can’t stay here all night.”

“Why’d you come here?” Brian asked as they entered the house. He’d never told Justin this was where he’d been before Vic descended from the great clouds above, after all. “The loft would have been closer.”

“Yeah, and you know people would have been pounding on the door all night,” Justin said. “I thought we could use some privacy. I’m not even sure anybody else knows exactly where Britin is, anyway.”

It was pathetic, but hearing Justin say the word ‘Britin,’ his own patented portmanteau of their names, renewed the tiny flame of hope still flickering in Brian’s chest. He took a seat in front of the fire that was still burning and hadn’t managed to set the house aflame while he was gallivanting around in another universe. Justin rolled his suitcase into the room and then took a seat on the couch. Brian watched his eyes briefly focus on the blood-stained scarf still dangling from the arm of the sofa where Vic had left it, but Justin didn’t comment on it.

“So,” Justin finally said a long moment later. “Do you want to start, or should I?”

Brian looked down at his hands, rubbing his wedding band with his thumb and forefinger of his other hand, and then looked back up at Justin. If this was all true, all he had to do was keep his promise to Vic to be _honest_ and everything would work out. Easier said than done. The exact opposite of how Brian operated. “I don’t know where to begin.”

Justin heaved a sigh. “Fine. Let’s start small. Did you mean what you said on the phone? About never wanting to see me again?”

Brian shook his head. At least that was an easy question. “No. No, I want the exact opposite of that.”

Justin nodded. “Good. I’m holding you to that. Of course, if you change your mind, that’s one thing. But I swear, I’ll tie your balls in a fucking knot if you lie to me again about something like that.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Brian said.

Justin frowned, then got off the couch and moved to sit on the arm of Brian’s chair. “Hey,” he said, wrapping his arm around Brian’s shoulders. “I know you’re not in a great place, and talking things out isn’t exactly your thing, but you scared the shit out of me today. Not only me, but all of your friends. And even now you look like a deer caught in the headlights, and I’m afraid you’re going to bolt at any second.”

“I won’t,” Brian said. “Promise.”

“Good,” Justin said. “You know I love you, right? I might be pissed as hell at you, but I want to help you. So, just tell me. Is it because of the New York accounts? Because honestly, I know how upsetting it is, but it’s not the end of the world. You’ll get there. I know it.”

Brian shook his head. “It’s not just the New York accounts.”

“Then what is it?”

Brian sighed and looked away. Well, wasn’t this just pathetic? Brian Kinney, pushing forty, unable to have an honest conversation with his partner, even after the surreal events of the evening. He was actually hoping Vic would pop out from behind a corner to give him some inspiration in his own uniquely disturbing way.

“You don’t have to look at me,” Justin said softly. “I could sit over in the corner and just listen. Or you could write it down. Or if you’d rather do it over the phone, I could --”

“I want you,” Brian interrupted. And that was true; that was the issue at the heart of the matter. He wanted Justin, he felt guilty for wanting Justin, and, more than anything, he wanted Justin to want him just as much. “And I don’t know what the fuck to do about it.”

Justin, to his credit, seemed to know exactly when Brian didn’t want him to say a fucking word. Instead he simply reached for Brian’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. That enough pushed Brian to finally look back at him, because if Justin could sit here with him after everything they’d been through, everything Brian had put him through that night alone, Brian could have the balls enough to look him in the eyes when he offered his confession.

“This arrangement is … so fucking far from what I want,” Brian said. “I walk around feeling like I’ve somehow lost my right arm, and then hating myself for even thinking something so pathetic. And so I thought, maybe I could avoid all that. I could throw myself into Kinnetik, land the New York accounts, and solve all my problems. Only I wasn’t even able to manage that.”

Justin frowned slightly, and Brian could tell he was resisting the urge to reassure him that he’d still managed to achieve incredible success or some other bullshit like that, but he still said nothing.

“And I would never ask you to sacrifice your life in New York for me,” Brian continued. “I don’t want you to feel you’re tied down to an old man in your hometown when you should be out conquering the world. Because I would never ask you to put your needs before mine. Except … here I am, sitting on my ass, wondering what happens next. Because despite all that, despite the fact that I’m living my life according to my own tried and true philosophies, philosophies I still even believe in, they’re failing me. I’m fucking miserable. And yet … I would never give it up. Not willingly, anyway.”

Still, Justin said nothing, instead choosing to simply rest his head on Brian’s shoulder.

“And that, Sunshine, is my big secret: I don’t know what the fuck is happening to my life, and I haven’t a clue what to do about it.”

“Oh, Brian,” Justin breathed. Cradling Brian’s face, he leaned in and kissed him on the mouth. Brian returned it gratefully. This he could do. No matter how often his inability to express himself with words had failed him in the past, he’d always excelled at communicating with a touch, a kiss, a fuck. Especially with Justin. And Justin, he suspected, knew it as well. This kiss was beyond a mere expression of affection; Justin was helping Brian regain his balance and return to more stable ground.

“I wish you had told me sooner,” Justin said quietly, carding his fingers through Brian’s hair. “I would have been here right away.” He chuckled. “But I guess that’s exactly why you didn’t tell me.”

“I’m beginning to see how you scored a 1500 on your SATs.”

“Jerk,” Justin said, punctuating the word with a kiss to Brian’s temple.

“I am,” Brian agreed. “So what do you propose we do about it?”

“Funny you should ask,” Justin said. “Do you know what one of the greatest things about being an up and coming artist in New York, spending half your time in a small room painting, inhaling the fumes?”

“Vivid hallucinations?” Brian asked, then shuddered slightly as an image of Vic flashed through his mind.

“Not usually,” Justin said. “But it _does_ give you a lot of time to think.”

Brian frowned. He’d seldom liked the things that came out of Justin’s mouth when he announced he’d had time to “think.”

“And I was thinking about how we’ve always been so all or nothing. How the whole ‘no apologies, no regrets’ philosophy seems to have not only taken root, but also sprouted vines. But you know the thing about vines? They look pretty, but if they grow too heavy, they can weaken even sturdy structures. They retain moisture and can hasten rotting. Wasps like to hide out in them.”

“If I’d known you’d taken up gardening, I could have saved money hiring a landscaper for this place,” Brian said. “And I wouldn’t exactly call us all or nothing, given the constant stream of men in and out of our bed.”

“Except we were pretty gung ho about that policy, too, weren’t we?” Justin said. “We had our beliefs about what a relationship was and what it wasn’t, and we stuck by it.”

“Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?” Brian asked. Despite everything that had happened, he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t about to suddenly settle down into a life of staid monogamy and adopt a handful of orphans.

“Well, I still believe we should only be together because we want to be,” Justin said. “And we shouldn’t have to sacrifice our dreams to be with each other. I _love_ that you pushed me to go to Hollywood, and then to New York. If I hadn’t gone, I would have spent my entire life wondering what would have happened if I had, and who knows what would have happened then? I could have ended up resenting Pittsburgh, resenting you. So I still think that’s a overall good policy.”

“But?”

“But not when it starts to hurt us,” Justin said. “Those vines of our own making are suffocating us, stunting our growth.”

“Aren’t you the little poet?” Brian said, squeezing Justin’s hand.

Justin squeezed it back. “So I was thinking it was high time we tackled the advanced relationship skill of compromise. Less all or nothing, more give and take. We push each other, we encourage each other to take on whatever dream or goal they have, but we also stand up for ourselves when our needs aren’t being met. We don’t run away, we don’t assume the other won’t give an inch, we don’t find somebody else. We turn to each other, not because we have to, but because by now, we both know that’s how important we are to each other, and we find a fucking solution so _both_ of us are happy. I _love_ you, Brian. I will always love you, even when you pull shit like this. I will always want to be with you, and will be with you as long as you let me … and probably even longer. And yeah, art’s an important part of my life, a huge important part of my life, but you’re the most important _person_ in my life. And that means something, too. Because no matter what else may be going on with my life, being with you isn’t a sacrifice. It’s a gift.”

“Does that mean I didn’t have to get you a Christmas present this year?” Brian asked, daring to crack a smile. As reassuring as Justin’s words were, and however much Brian realized he needed to hear them at that moment, he still wasn’t up to Justin reciting love sonnets in his honor.

“We can negotiate on that,” Justin said with a grin. “Hopefully soon enough we’ll be living in the same city again, whether that’s New York or Pittsburgh -- and shut your mouth, yes, I still might move back to Pittsburgh -- but until then, we need to figure out a way to see each other more often.”

“We already tried that,” Brian pointed out.

“We’ll just try harder, be smarter about it,” Justin said. “And it could be fun. Think about the number of weekends we vetoed because I had to schmooze at an event. That was stupid. What better way to convince a bunch of art snobs that I need to be in their next exhibit than to have a gorgeous man on my arm singing my praises?”

“Have I taught you nothing?” Brian asked. “It’s all about strategy. If I show up on your arm, they’ll know I have a motive. Much better to present myself as an anonymous figure and work the crowd. Steer a few critics your way. Get some rich art fans to empty their pockets.”

Justin grinned. “And then we continue the act once the night’s over and have some hot role play in a dark, hidden corner?”

“Exactly,” Brian said. Encouraged, he leaned up for a quick kiss. “So long as we’re compromising, is there anything you would like to discuss? Something where there’s room to _compromise_ on?”

“Yeah, actually,” Justin said. “I want you to be honest with me.”

Brian nodded. Little did Justin know he’d already made this promise to Vic. “Go ahead.”

“No, I mean, that’s it,” Justin said. “I want you to be honest with me. I don’t want you to feel like you have to put up a front all the time. If something’s bothering you, even if it’s something you feel like you don’t have a right to be upset about, I want you to tell me.”

Brian frowned.

“And I know that’s not really your style,” Justin continued. “And I’m not asking you to share _everything_. But when things are this bad ... I hate that I only knew the slightest extent of it, and when I think about everything that could have happened tonight ... I love you, Brian, and the last thing I want is you to be in pain, especially if there’s something I can do to help.”

Brian cleared his throat and directed his gaze toward the fire. He should have known this was what Justin would want. For one thing, it actually made a fuckload of sense. For another, that had been Vic’s whole schpiel, hadn’t it? He might as well have bedazzled his Hawaiian shirt to say “Talk to Sunshine!!!” in bright pink rhinestones.

That didn’t mean the prospect wasn’t terrifying as hell.

“And I don’t mean you have to get all sappy about it,” Justin said hurriedly. “You can even have a codeword or something. Like, if you say ‘red door,’ I’ll know that there’s something bothering you and I can work my magic to get it out of you.”

“I’m not fucking twelve years old,” Brian said, turning back to glare at Justin. “I don’t need a codeword.”

Justin blinked. “Fine. So, is that okay?”

“As long as you do the same.”

A slow smile spread across Justin’s face. “Okay. Deal.”

Brian nodded. Well, nothing like diving right in to this whole honesty thing. “I don’t want you to fuck Alfonso.”

Justin’s jaw dropped, and Brian’s stomach along with it. Did that mean they already had? Alfredo traded the car for a blow job? Brian clenched his fists. Christ, how fucking pathetic was he? “You can’t tell me to be honest about things I have no right to feel and then fucking look at me like that,” Brian said, rising. “If you already fucked him, then fine. Go ahead. Fuck him again, for all I care.”

Justin reached for Brian’s hand. “It’s not that,” he said. “And I haven’t fucked him. I meant it when I said I had no interest in him.”

“Then why are you practicing your imitation of a beached trout?”

Justin laughed. “I guess I just never expected to hear you actually say it.” He shrugged. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Justin repeated. “Just a minor addendum to our rules for our extracurricular activities. Nobody more than once, no names or numbers exchanged, no kissing on the mouth, and no fucking friends or anybody else we come into regular familiar contact with. Sound about right?”

In response, Brian pulled Justin up off the chair and into his arms for a kiss. It was remarkable, really. Somehow, Justin was able to cut to the crux of the matter, to reassure him with just a few short, no-nonsense words, to transform Brian’s massive discomfort into a matter as inconsequential as deciding what to have for breakfast.

“Good,” Justin said when they parted. “Just one last thing before we get down to business.”

He kissed Brian once more, lightly but pointedly, and disentangled himself from his arms. Then he crouched down to the floor, picked up the scarf, and dangled it in front of Brian’s face. “I’m not willing to compromise on this. It needs to go.”

Brian swiped his hand over his mouth. “Justin.”

“The only person who deserves to wear this scarf is Chris Hobbs,” Justin said. “Preferably as a noose. But we both know he wouldn’t get within ten yards of it in case the blood managed to give him AIDS.”

Brian wanted to laugh. He did appreciate Justin’s attempt at levity. Still, the situation was far, _far_ from funny. He tried to speak, to say something, anything, but his mouth was dry and he could scarcely move.

“Do you know how fucking lucky I am? I’m in love with somebody who has proven time and time again that he would do _anything_ for me, who would be there for me on my worst days, who would help me when I couldn’t even recognize myself. Christ, Brian. I don’t even know where I’d be if I’d never met you.”

A sudden image of Justin’s headstone flashed to the forefront of Brian’s mind. All the blood seemed to drain from his head, and he staggered backwards, reaching for the couch to regain his balance. But he needn’t have bothered, for Justin was instantaneously back in his arms, holding him steady. Brian was vaguely aware that Justin was murmuring something into his ear, likely some worried, reassuring drivel, but Brian was focused on far more important things, like those critical proof points -- the warmth of Justin’s body beneath his hands, the feeling of his breath against his neck, the steady beating of his heart -- all signs that what Vic had shown him wasn’t true, and would never be true. Not in this lifetime. Not if Brian had any say about it.

“We’re stronger than what happened all those years ago,” Brian was finally aware of Justin saying. “We’re more than that.”

“You’re right,” Brian said. After kissing Justin’s forehead, he reached for the scarf, took a deep breath, and tossed it into the fire.

“I’m proud of you,” Justin said, coming up behind Brian to rest his chin on his shoulder. “You really are amazing, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Brian said, watching the scarf rapidly disintegrate in the flames. “I’m sure I’m nearing my lifetime quota of selfless acts.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Justin said. He grabbed Brian by the hand to turn him around. “You’re wearing your ring,” he said, holding up their clasped hands.

“That artist’s eye,” Brian said. “You don’t miss a thing.”

Justin grinned. “Any reason why?”

Brian cleared his throat. Despite the newfound honesty between the two of them, Brian sure as fuck wasn’t ready to share all of the day’s events. “Because I wanted to,” he finally said. It was true, after all.

“Always right to the point,” Justin said. He paused. “Do you want me to wear mine?”

Well, this was unexpected. Truthfully, Brian hadn’t given any thought to wearing the ring long-term. If Vic hadn’t interrupted him, he probably would have removed it earlier. He wasn’t exactly the type to wear fine jewelry, especially not a wedding ring. _Especially_ when they weren’t even fucking married. But now, seeing it glimmer on his finger, feeling the weight of it, Brian wasn’t especially inclined to take it off. “Do you want to?” he asked.

“Hadn’t given it much thought,” Justin said. He drew Brian’s hand to his lips and kissed his ring. “But seeing you wear yours is pretty hot. Makes me wonder.”

Brian dug into his pocket and found Justin’s matching ring. “Care to try it on for size?” he asked. When Justin nodded, his cheeks flushed, Brian slipped the ring on. It slid right into place, as though it were meant to be there all along. Smiling, he leaned down and pressed his lips to the cool metal. “I would have married you, you know.”

“I know,” Justin said. “But we made the right decision. The time wasn’t right. Maybe some day, if we both want it, if it makes sense, maybe then it’ll happen. But not then.”

“And if the time’s never right?”

Justin shrugged. “Does it matter? We’ve always set our own rules. If we want to be together for the rest of our lives, we will be, with or without a marriage certificate. And do you want to know a secret?” He leaned in close to whisper into Brian’s ear. “I think we will be.”

Brian smiled. Out of the corner of his eye he could have sworn he saw Vic grinning madly as well, but then he blinked and he was gone. It was probably just Justin’s words that reminded Brian of Vic, of his own prediction of their future. “Yeah,” Brian said. “Wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

Suddenly, it was all very easy, and they fell into their personal, well-rehearsed dance. Shirts, pants, and shoes were removed between kisses. Brian took his time becoming reacquainted with Justin’s body after far too many weeks apart, counting backwards from 100 in his head in an attempt to maintain his control, all while Justin seemed determine to break it.

“Brian,” Justin gasped, and Brian took the moment of weakness to push him back onto the couch. Sinking to his knees, he traced the length of Justin’s dick with his tongue, gifting it with a few swirls around the head before swallowing it whole. Justin groaned and bit his lip, but he refused to break eye contact with Brian.

Christ, Brian loved blowing Justin. It still surprised him at times. He knew he gave great fucking head; he’d certainly had enough practice in his youth. But once he’d established his reputation as the consummate top, he’d rarely opened his mouth for any cock. Not because he was concerned with not being in control -- he may have been on his knees, but _he_ was still the one making them come, so that meant he was still calling the shots -- but just because he didn’t really give a damn. He was seeking maximum pleasure, and unless the trick had a particularly exquisite dick, sucking cock didn’t usually do it for Brian.

But with Justin …

For one, he _did_ have an exquisite dick -- big, nearly as big as Brian’s, with plump, pink balls. For another, Justin’s dick seemed to be somehow connected to his mouth, because with nearly every swipe of Brian’s tongue, every confident suck, every stroke of his hand, Justin would moan. It made Brian hard as hell, especially with the way Justin always stared so intently at Brian sucking him off, as though he was focusing all his concentration on engraving the vision to memory. He knew there were few things Justin loved more than Brian blowing him.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Justin said, gripping Brian’s hair. “Wanna come down your throat.”

Brian blinked slowly, then slid one pre-come-slickened finger up his ass.

“Shit, Brian! I -- oh, _Christ_!”

Ah, yes, and then the other things Brian loved about blowing Justin. The groans he made. The way he arched his hips. The taste of his come.

Brian swallowed it all.

Justin didn’t waste any time hauling Brian up, kissing him mercilessly. “I love the tasting myself on your tongue.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” Brian said, pressing Justin down into the cushions.

“Hold on, hold on,” Justin said. He dug around the couch, then triumphantly pulled out a tube of lubricant, followed by a condom. “Right where I left them!”

Brian laughed. “I’ll take those,” he said, grabbing them. “You just rest your pretty little head.”

“Lie back and think of England?”

“I hear it did wonders for the Victorian ladies,” Brian said, sliding the condom on.

“Yeah, but they didn’t have you pounding into them.” Justin hissed as Brian squirted some lube onto his fingers and worked them into his ass. “It’s a little hard to think of anything but your dick.”

“But you love it,” Brian said.

Justin grabbed the back of Brian’s head and tugged him down for a ferocious kiss. “Fuck me.”

“My, my,” Brian said, positioning his cock at Justin’s entrance. “It appears New York has worn off on you. Where are your manners?”

“Up my ass,” Justin said. “Maybe if you shove your cock up there you’ll find them.”

Brian snorted. “So crude.”

“You are the one who taught me to always take a direct approach,” Justin said, cupping Brian’s ass and shoving him forward. “So I am very directly telling you that you should hurry up and fuck me.”

Never one to give in that easily, Brian slowly pushed his cock in, smirking as he heard Justin’s breath catch. But once he was balls deep, he stilled. “Say the magic word.”

Justin laughed. “Come on, now.”

“I’m only trying to teach you your manners,” Brian said. “How ever will you charm over the art critics when you’re so terribly rude?”

“Never stopped you from charming your clients,” Justin said.

“Well, if you’re not interested,” Brian said, slowly pulling out.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I?” Brian moved, pushing himself back in, ever so slightly but at the perfect angle that he _knew_ turned Justin on, just enough to give a hint of what was to come. Sure enough, Justin cried out. “Well, if that’s a risk you’re willing to take …”

“Please,” Justin said quickly. “Please, Brian. Fuck me.”

“There’s my polite young man,” Brian said. He covered Justin’s mouth with his own, and, always a proponent of positive reinforcement, thrust into Justin’s ass.

Now, if blowing Justin was surprisingly pleasurable, fucking him was a goddamn marvel. For a while, Brian was convinced that, eventually, fucking Justin over and over would get boring. How could it not? The same ass, the same cock, the same guy … with anybody else, Brian knew it would become monotonous, predictable. How many different ways could the same two guys fuck and still keep it interesting?

Brian groaned as that fucking shithead he was desperate to keep around clenched his ass around his cock, nearly throwing off his impeccable rhythm.

“You like that?” Brian asked, licking Justin’s neck. “You like having my cock inside you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Brian demanded, giving a particularly savage thrust.

“Yes, please,” Justin said, digging his heels into the small of Brian’s back. “Please, Brian. Fuck me.”

It had been too long. It probably wasn’t Brian’s finest performance, probably wasn’t even in their top 100 fucks, but all Brian wanted to do was pound into Justin and feel him come on his cock, and his cock alone, to feel fucking everything so he could remind himself that _this_ was his and it was _real_. He drove into him, harder, faster, angling himself to hit Justin’s prostate with every other thrust. Justin clung to him, gasping his name, filthy obscenities, and, undoubtedly content to have lost the battle if it meant winning the war, “please.”

“Please, Brian. Right there. Just … that … harder …”

“That’s it, Sunshine,” Brian said. “Come for me.”

“God, Brian!” Justin shouted, and shot his load, splattering his belly and Brian’s chest.

Of course, Brian couldn’t hold back after that; there was no bigger turn on than watching Justin completely lose control and come like that. He pounded into Justin, completely surrendering himself to the feeling of Justin’s ass around his dick, and finally came, not bothering to stifle his moans.

“Amazing,” Justin said, grinning. “And I even got an etiquette lesson along the way. I always told my mother you’d be able to teach me all kinds of things.”

Brian snorted and tied off the condom, then tossed it aside. “Yes, I’m sure this is _exactly_ what she had in mind,” he said, settling down onto Justin’s chest.

“Mmm.” Justin brought up a hand to lazily stroke Brian’s hair. “So, how long do you think until the others track us down?”

“Tomorrow at the earliest,” Brian said, nuzzling Justin’s neck. “My phone’s dead and I didn’t bring the charger.”

Justin laughed. “Still using that excuse?”

“Not an excuse if it’s true.”

“Point,” Justin said. “And mine’s on silent and all the way across the room, and I’m just too worn out and exhausted to stand up. Plus there’s this big, sweaty lug on me.”

Brian lightly bit Justin’s earlobe. “What did I tell you about manners?”

Justin laughed, then yawned. “Sorry. Guess I am actually tired. Been a long day.”

“Mmm. When do you have to go back?” Brian asked. Despite everything they had just talked about, Brian hated asking the question, and equally hated the way his stomach knotted up at the idea of Justin heading back with no concrete plans for Brian to join him.

“Well, I brought some canvases and paint back with me,” Justin said. “And Alfonso is sending a few more things down. I figured I could paint here just as well as in New York, at least for a little while.”

“Depends on how long a little while is,” Brian said.

“I don’t know,” Justin said. “The first? Thought it might be nice to ring in the new year together. That is, as long as you don’t mind my being in your way.”

“I’ll tell Cynthia to clear out a conference room for you to turn into a studio,” Brian said. “In fact, it might not be bad as a permanent change. You should have a place with good light to work in when you’re in Pittsburgh.” He went to reach for his phone to text her immediately before remembering, of course, it was dead.

“That’d be great,” Justin said, then yawned again. “Sorry.”

“Get some rest,” Brian said, pressing his lips to Justin’s forehead. “I’ll go grab us some blankets. And then you can ride me before we face the inquisition squad.”

Justin chuckled and burrowed into the couch. “Sounds like a plan.”

Grumbling a bit, Brian got to his feet to search for a blanket. The couch wasn’t big enough for both of them to sleep comfortably, at least not without one of them losing circulation in their limbs, so at some point they’d have to move to the bed. But Justin already looked like he was four seconds away from passing out, so it seemed as though relocating would have to wait until the next time they were both up … in every sense of the word.

He smiled down at Justin, sprawled out on the couch, his blond hair in disarray and his cheeks flushed. Unable to resist, Brian crouched down and stroked the hair just behind his ear. “Thank you,” he whispered.

To his surprise, Justin’s eyes flickered open. “What for?”

“For coming down here today, even when you had a dozen other things you actually _should_ be focusing your energy on,” Brian said. “And for staying longer than you should.”

“Told you,” Justin murmured, reaching for Brian’s hand. “You’re the most important person in my life. Couldn’t keep me away. Should have learned that by now.”

Brian squeezed his hand, paying extra attention to the ring on his finger. “Yeah, guess I should have.” He paused. “And … for always having faith in me. Even when nobody else does.” He left the _including myself_ part unsaid, but he knew Justin understood his meaning.

“Well, somebody has to,” Justin said.

“No, somebody doesn’t, actually,” Brian said. “But I appreciate that you do.”

Justin smiled, but it was clear he was already dozing off again. “Love you, too, Bri …”

Brian brushed his lips against Justin’s knuckles, then once again readied himself to find a blanket. He thought he’d brought a throw over here once, but, worst case scenario, he could grab one off the --

“Looking for something?”

“Fuck!” Brian snatched the throw from Vic’s hands. “What do you think you’re doing, sneaking up behind people?”

“Dead man’s right,” Vic said. “And I didn’t exactly sneak. I was by the stairs the entire time.”

“Enjoy the show, you old pervert?” Brian asked with a smirk. He threw the blanket over Justin, carefully tucking him in, then grabbed his pants and pulled them up as he turned to face Vic again. “Although would you mind keeping it down? I don’t want Justin to wake up and think I’m talking to myself. I already had to convince him once I haven’t lost my fucking mind.”

Vic laughed. “Please, I lived with him, remember? Kid could fall asleep standing up, then stay that way, even through a nuclear bomb going off.”

“I’ve found that a good blow job does the trick.”

“If you’re looking for somebody to congratulate you on your fellatio skills being more powerful than a nuclear bomb, look elsewhere,” Vic said. “I was only here to make sure you kept your word. And since you did, I get to leave you a few parting gifts.”

“What, leaving so soon?” Brian asked. “I thought we’d have our own personal angel to perch on the top of our Christmas tree.”

“You have to make reservations months in advance for that,” Vic said. “I’m afraid I’m already booked for the holidays. Judy throws the most amazing Christmas parties.”

Brian snorted. “So you were serious, huh? You and Judy?”

“She’s a wonderful lady,” Vic said. “Keeper of lost souls. Oh, she gave me this for you.”

Brian took the festively wrapped present and quickly tore off the paper. It was a vinyl record of Judy’s concert at Carnegie Hall, every queen’s most prized possession. But what was astonishing was that it was autographed: _To the always young and always beautiful Brian Kinney, Don’t let this be the man that gets away! All my love, Judy Garland._

“Nobody’s going to believe this is real,” Brian said. “They’ll think I was some idiot who cared enough about getting a personalized Judy vinyl that I fell for some asshole who sold me a forged autograph.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Vic said. “We know the truth, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Brian said, still staring at Judy’s signature. “Guess we do.”

“Oh, but I haven’t given you my present yet,” Vic said.

“Aww, Vic, I didn’t have time to get you anything,” Brian said, carefully setting the record on an end table. “I’m afraid you somehow didn’t make my shopping list, what with you being dead and all.”

“I’ll let it slide this year,” Vic said, and pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. “Go ahead. Pick one.”

Rolling his eyes, Brian grabbed on at random. “Ten of hearts. What do I win?”

“Ten new New York contracts, signed, sealed, and delivered on your desk within the next two weeks.” Vic gave him a mock salute. “Well, it’s been great. See ya later!”

“Hold it, angel boy,” Brian said, grabbing Vic by the elbow. “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

“Did traveling to an alternate reality addle your brain?” Vic asked. “What part of that phrase didn’t you understand? The number ten, the phrase ‘New York,’ contracts, two weeks …”

“No fucking way,” Brian said, handing the card back to Vic. “If I’m going to land those accounts, I’m going to land them on my own, not because God decided to take pity on me and throw me a few handouts.”

“Who said God had anything to do with this?” Vic asked, looking insulted. “This is a gift from me.”

“Well, thank you, Vic,” Brian said. “But my point still stands. I don’t need your charity.”

“Then why don’t you think of it as several decades’ worth of Christmas presents?” Vic asked. His voice had lost its familiar dry edge, and now sounded uncharacteristically tender. “I’ve known you for a long time, half of your life. And yet I realized today that meant nothing. I’ve seen a lot of your life today, Brian, and more than anything, I wish I’d done more when I was alive. Taken some time to get to _actually_ know you. I think we may have had more in common than I ever thought.”

“Yeah, well, don’t blame yourself,” Brian said. “Believe me, the last thing I ever wanted to do was to bare my soul to some old queen. Still is, actually.”

Vic laughed. “See, not that different after all. Still, let me do this.” He pressed the card back into Brian’s hand. “Take it.”

Brian sighed. “Vic …”

“Think about it,” Vic said. “You can either stubbornly refuse to swallow your pride, or you can accept the gift as it is and get what you’ve been busting your ass to accomplish. You’d get to live with Justin again. Right away, no more waiting around or wondering when the stars would finally align.”

As if on cue, Justin let out a loud snore. Brian glanced over at him, smiling as he tugged at the blanket and pulled it nearly over his head. A familiar warmth spread through Brian, starting somewhere in his belly before rising up through his chest. How fucking insane of a turn had has life taken? Not even a decade ago, the sight of Justin spread out on his couch had Brian brimming with annoyance as he lamented his sanctuary being invaded by the high school twink he’d been stupid enough to fuck. Now the mere sight of Justin lying there tempted Brian to do the unthinkable, to accept a windfall he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve, all for the chance to see that very image on a regular basis.

“Besides,” Vic continued, “it’s definitely not charity. I may be giving these clients a bit of a heavenly _push_ to quickly sign a fairly lucrative contract with you, but you’re going to have to work to keep them. And those New Yorkers are _very_ particular.”

Brian nodded. “So, ah, what do I do with the card? Do I have to sign something in blood, or --”

“Just hang onto it,” Vic said, and waggled his eyebrows. “Who knows what other good things it might bring your way?”

Brian carefully tucked the card into the sleeve of the Judy Garland vinyl. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Vic pulled Brian into a firm hug and kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself. I’ll be watching, and _not_ just during the sexy times. And say hi to Justin for me.”

And, just like that, he was gone. But this time, Brian knew it was for good. He closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly, still somewhat convinced the entire thing had been one entirely fucked up dream. But when he opened them, Justin was still blissfully asleep on the couch, his ring still glinting in the firelight, and Judy’s album, inexplicably dedicated to him, was still on the table.

What a night.

What a year.

What a _life_.

“Brian?” Justin’s sleepy mumble broke through Brian’s thoughts. “You coming?”

Brian tugged off his pants, then went to join Justin on the couch.

“Yeah,” he said, stroking Justin’s hair. “I’m here.”


End file.
